


Fear Not

by couchbarnacle



Series: Fear Not Your Strength [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Meeting the Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 04:24:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couchbarnacle/pseuds/couchbarnacle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ex-Army Doctor, Fluffy Kitten, Adorable Hedgehog, Three Continents John Watson meets the only person who has ever disapproved of him: Mummy Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear Not

**Author's Note:**

> 99 times out of a 100, I can't imagine Mummy Holmes being anything other than amazing and wonderful and loving. But sometimes mothers aren't nice. This is that time.

“I just am not sure that this is the best idea.” Lestrade said hesitantly. 

“Why not?” John asked, finishing off his pint. “You’re going, right?”

“Yeah, of course.” Lestrade sighed heavily. “Mrs. Holmes practically delivered the embossed invitation herself. I’m pretty sure she’d have my head if I didn’t show.”

“An invitation?” John asked.”Sherlock didn’t mention an invitation.”

“What did Sherlock say exactly?” Lestrade inquired.

“He said that he had to go his family’s estate for a holiday and that I could come if I want.” John said suddenly feeling incredibly unsure. “I don’t have anywhere else to go and he didn’t sound like it was that big of a deal.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, mate, without sounding like an incredibly posh twat.” Lestrade sighed, playing with his pint glass. “But there is one reason, and one reason only why Mrs. Holmes approves of me dating her son.”

“And what’s that?” John asked. 

“My family owns 30% of the vineyards in the south of France.” Lestrade blustered embarrassed. 

“Oh.” John said. “Wow.” 

“It’s not that big of a deal.” Lestrade said flustered. “I mean, I’m not running the business or anything. That’s more my older sister’s thing, but Mrs. Holmes contracts with us for her social events.”

“So, she likes money?” John asked feeling his stomach drop heavily.

“She just wants her sons ‘taken care of’.” Lestrade said unable to meet John’s eye.

“They’re grown men.” John said confused. “One of them single-handedly runs the country. The other…well, okay…Sherlock definitely needs a certain level of care…but I mean. They’re adults.”

“They’re her babies.” Lestrade said heavily. “They deserve someone ‘worthy of them’ as she says and that translates almost exclusively into a large bank account and a respected family.”

“Well,” John said confused. “Sherlock and I…we’re…I mean, we fit, ya know. Isn’t that more important?”

“I know that.” Lestrade said purposefully. “And the people that matter know that, but just don’t be surprised if Mrs. Holmes doesn’t warm up to you.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” John said quickly. “People like me. I’m incredibly likeable. Once she sees us together, she’ll understand. She’ll have to.”

“Just be careful.” Lestrade said quietly. “Where do you think those crazy buggers get their tenacity?”

000000000000000000

“My dear darling boy!” A petite woman in a sharp black pantsuit called happily from the entrance to a sprawling country estate. She shuffled over on uncomfortably high heels and pulled her youngest son into a tight hug before kissing him on both cheeks twice and once on his forehead. 

“Hello, Mummy.” Sherlock said with a subdued smirk lighting his features. 

“Look at you!” She cooed, holding his face in her well-manicured hands. “You look marvelous, my dear. Is that Gucci? You look smashing. Come inside and we’ll get you some tea.”

“Mummy,” Sherlock said, stopping her from pulling him into the house with a hand on her shoulder. “I want to introduce you to John Watson.”

John put on his best smile as he waited for Mrs. Holmes to turn to look at him. With barely a flicker of a glance, she sighed heavily before saying, “Charmed, Mr. Watson.” 

“He’s a doctor, mummy.” Sherlock corrected her awkwardly. 

“Oh?” She said. “Where’s your practice?”

“Well,” He tried to answer. “I don’t have my own practice. Right now I just work part-time at a clinic near our flat.”

“I’m sure that’s…nice…” She said before pulling her son into the house. “Henry? Please help John with the bags and show him to their rooms. Sherlock, I just have to show you what I picked up for you in Florence. You’ll just die…”

John felt his stomach twist with anxiety as he turned to help the butler with the bags. He walked awkwardly behind the silent employee. Henry stopped in front of a room and dropped Sherlock’s bags lightly beside the door. John went to enter as well but he was stopped short by the man. 

“Excuse me, sir.” Henry said blandly. “Your room is in a different part of the house.”

“But…” John said feeling his cheeks redden. “We…we’re…”

“Lady’s orders, you understand.” Henry said before turning quickly and leading him down the hall. It was five minutes and two flights of stairs later that he was dropped off at a smaller room. He entered to find two small twin beds.  
“The Lady does apologize, sir.” Henry spoke like he was rattling off a speech. “But, all the other rooms were taken and considering we didn’t receive an RSVP, this was the only room left.”

“It’s fine.” John said, swallowing past his nausea. “This is great. Thank you, Henry.”

“Of course.” Henry said before turning on his heel and stalking back down the hall.

John felt dread burn through his body as he dropped his old duffle on one of the beds and ran his hands over his face roughly.

“This was a terrible idea.” He muttered to himself. 

He quickly changed into a nicer pair of trousers before leaving the room and backtracking through the house to the main hall. He heard voices coming from a parlor and entered with a pained smile just to freeze in place at the scene in front of him.

A man, a…well…frankly gorgeous man was resting his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders and Sherlock was grinning broadly. 

“John.” Sherlock called happily. “Come meet Victor. We went to university together. He was my chemistry lab partner.”

“Hello.” John said gritting his teeth and trying to force a pleasant smile onto his features. 

“It’s so great to meet you.” Victor said with a thousand watt smile and deep brown eyes. 

“Victor,” Sherlock said. “This is John, my…flatmate…”

And that was officially the nail in the coffin for the completely awful terrible stupid decision to come this weekend. 

“Victor works at a prestigious pharmaceutical company in New York.” Mrs. Holmes fluttered around with a smarmy grin on her face. “His mother is also on the board for Harrods. We often sit down to tea together when I’m in town. It’s just so lucky that he happened to be home for a few days.” 

An awkward silence fell over the group and thankfully they were saved by the entrance of Lestrade and Mycroft.

“Oh, my boys!” Mrs. Holmes almost shrieked. She pulled them both into a big hug and even went so far as to pinch Lestrade’s cheeks. 

“Are you taking care of my baby, Gregory?” Mrs. Holmes asked with a gleeful little chuckle. 

“We take care of each other, Mummy.” Lestrade said with a smile.

“Oh, you two.” She responded.

“Mummy.” Mycroft said with an indulgent smirk. “Let us know where our room is so that we can have Henry drop our bags off.”

“The East suite, my darling.” She said before kissing her eldest again. “Go get settled in and then meet us for tea.”

“Yes, Mummy.” Mycroft said dutifully. 

“Victor, Sherlock.” She called out. “Join me for a tour of the garden. I want to show you what I’ve done since the last time you were here.”

“I’m sure John would like to come as well.” Sherlock said off-hand. “Go ahead without us. We’ll catch up.” 

Mrs. Holmes sighed heavily before latching on to Victor’s well-toned bicep and leading him out of the room.

The minute they were out of sight, Sherlock turned to crowd close to John latching onto his waist and resting his head against John’s neck.

“I feel like I should apologize.” Sherlock whispered. 

“It’s fine.” John breathed in relief, finally feeling like he’d found some stability since he’d entered the house. 

“I didn’t know that Victor was invited.” Sherlock sighed into his neck. 

“Did you…” John stammered. “I mean, were you…”

“No.” Sherlock said quietly. “It was just never the right time.”  
¬  
“Oh.” John said simply. 

“Which room are we in?” Sherlock asked pressing kisses lightly against the sensitive skin near John’s ear. “Maybe we could spend a little time relaxing before dinner.”

“Oh,” John murmured. “We’re not in the same room.”

“What?!” Sherlock asked pulling back. “Why not?”

“You’re asking the wrong person, Sherlock.” John said heavily. “I’m on the fourth floor.”

Sherlock went quiet as he searched John’s face before kissing him lightly on the temple. 

“I’ll talk to her.” Sherlock said quietly.

In Sherlock’s defense, he did try to talk to his mother but, unfortunately, it went like this:

“Mummy,” Sherlock said, pulling her aside before tea. “John will be moving his belongings into my suite.”

“Now Sherlock,” She chided softly. “You know how I feel about couples sharing rooms before marriage.”

“Mycroft and Lestrade aren’t married.” Sherlock huffed.

“Yes, but they’re in a serious relationship.” She waved away his comment. “They’re practically married as it is.”

“John and I are serious as well.” Sherlock countered, feeling his stomach shift uncomfortably.

“Honey,” Mummy said with a sigh. “I’m sure Mr. Watson is a…fine…individual. But he is certainly not the type of man that you, my dear heart, should settle down with. You deserve someone much more…stable…and…secure…than a man who can’t even support his own lifestyle.”

“What are you talking about?” Sherlock asked, feeling wrongfooted and incredibly tense.

“A little birdie told me that he has repeatedly asked you for money and takes money from your hard-earned work as a detective.” Mrs. Holmes gasped. “I just can’t allow you to commit seriously to a man who sponges off of you because he is too incompetent to maintain a full-time job.”

Sherlock was speechless as his mother shuffled off to ensure the tea service was perfect. He turned to see the flushed and defeated features of his ex-army doctor peeking out from the doorway before he stumbled back and made his way quickly up to his room at the top of the house.

000000000000000000

“John…” Lestrade called, knocking on the door to his room. “I’m coming in.”

Lestrade entered to find John repacking his bag and shoving his arms through his jacket.

“You were right.” John said lifting his bag onto his shoulder and avoiding his friend’s gaze. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were thinking that you love that posh git and you want to be a part of his life.” Lestrade said firmly. 

“We don’t…” John stuttered. “We haven’t…”

“That doesn’t mean that you don’t.” Lestrade said, leaning heavily against the door jamb. “Can I make a suggestion?”

“Go ahead.” John sighed. “I obviously can’t trust my own judgement.”

“Just head back to London.” Lestrade grumbled. “The only thing that you being here will do is make her say even worse things.”

“And leave Sherlock here with a bloody Adonis?” John asked hopelessly. “They’ll probably be married with adoption papers processed by Thursday.”

“You’re forgetting one very important thing.” Lestrade said wryly. “This is Sherlock. You’re the only one that can stand the posh git.”

“Thank you.” John said sarcastically. “It’s nice to know that Sherlock is only with me because no one else will have him.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Lestrade chided. “You were a soldier, John. Pity parties are beneath you. Think of this as a tactical retreat.”

“You’ll keep an eye on him for me?” John asked tentatively. 

“I’ll consider it a pleasure.” Lestrade said. “It’ll keep me busy and avoiding dear Mummy’s demands to make an ‘honest man’ of her son.”

“Thanks Greg.” John sighed.

“No problem.” Lestrade answered. “What are friends for?”

000000000000000000000

“John…” Sherlock urged. “I know that it looks bad…” 

“Sherlock,” John cut him off. “I shouldn’t have come. That’s obvious now. Have a good time with your family and I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

“She’s just…” Sherlock tried again.

“I get it.” John said quickly. “I do. Just try not to get engaged while I’m gone, yeah?”

“Hardly.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Tuesday?”

“Tuesday.” John reassured him and kissed the corner of his mouth lightly before heading out the door to wait for his taxi to the station.  
John began to make his way down the driveway as he saw the taxi approaching the house when he heard his name shouted. He turned to find Mrs. Holmes shuffling after him.

“Mr. Watson!” She called.

He sighed heavily before answering, “Yes, Mrs. Holmes?”

“You forgot to say goodbye.” She chided. “That’s terrible manners, you understand.”

“I’m so sorry.” John bit out. “How rude of me. Goodbye.”

“I must say,” She said with a shark grin. “I am sorry to hear about your clinic needing you back in London. But this might make the gathering more intimate, you know. It will be just a family gathering now. So much nicer.”

“Yes, well.” John said sharply before turning to enter the taxi.

“I just want you to know.” She called. “I understand your feelings for my son. He is truly an extraordinary individual. But I think we both know he deserves more than just a bit of rough on the side, don’t you?”

John felt his entire chest flood with humiliation and anger as his face shaded to crimson. He slammed the door after himself and gave the two finger salute to the now empty courtyard as the cab took him back toward London, back toward home.

John arrived home late that evening weighed down not only by his carry-all but by a resurrected feeling of worthlessness that he hadn’t felt since before Sherlock returned. He tried to shake off the lethargy with a cuppa and his blog. He still had a few cases to write up over the past couple of weeks. He spent Saturday and Sunday working extra hours at the clinic and volunteering at the homeless shelter. He spent time with Mrs. Hudson and helped her carry her groceries considering her hip didn’t seem to be getting better at all. He met Dimmock for a pint and watched crap telly. It was a pretty quiet weekend without his consulting detective around.

000000000000000000000

Sherlock collapsed against the recently reupholstered couch with a huge sigh and frown. He didn’t like being without John, but Mummy had beckoned and he couldn’t say no and John was obviously uncomfortable so he didn’t want to manipulate him into staying and Mummy was being horrible anyway just like always and so he just sat their brooding as they waited for the dinner bell with everyone else involved in the discussion of this season’s grapes or some such nonsense.

“Sherlock.” His mother chided softly. “Victor asked you a question.”

“He turned to face his old university lab partner with a raised eye brow.

“I was just wondering about that whole situation from a few years ago.” Victor said with a smile. “You faked your death for three years? That must have been an adventure.”

Sherlock let those memories seep into his consciousness as he recalled his exhaustion and anger and desperation and isolation. His weeks spent in drab little hovels, chasing petty criminal after petty criminal all for the ultimate goal of dismembering Moriarty’s organization. The cases were boring and pedestrian and so mind numbing that he’d started using again. There was no finesse. No brilliance. No game. Just tedium and loneliness. 

He remembered the feeling of total relief as Moran was taken away in cuffs shouting and struggling. He recalled John’s broken and empty gaze when he laid eyes on him for the first time in three years. He could still feel John’s calloused fingers caressing his cheeks. The sound of John’s gasp, his own fractured sob. The smell of John’s skin and the taste of his lips. The overwhelming, shattering relief of having the one person that mattered to him in the entire world forgive him for three years of deception with the brush of fingers through his hair. 

He thought of the struggle over the past six months to regain their ease around each other. The fight to feel normal again, like partners again. The strange and awkward moments of nightmares and the pain of detox and the recovery of their trust in each other. The humbling knowledge that John was giving him the chance to be more himself and more comfortable in his own skin than he’d ever been before with a simple quirk of his lips and shrug of his shoulders.

He was pulled back to the present and turned away to gaze out the window before answering Victor’s query, “Not terribly exciting, no.”

“I know he gave me several heart attacks.” Mummy tittered. “Mycroft waited a whole twenty minutes before ensuring me that Sherlock wasn’t actually dead. And to think, he didn’t contact me once that entire time. I made him swear to visit me whenever I told him to after that little stunt. I deserve as much after going through all of that pain.”

“So you met John after you returned, then?” Victor asked casually. 

“No,” Mrs. Holmes cut in with an exasperated sigh. “Mr. Watson seems to have been following Sherlock around for years now.”

“Dr. John Watson,” Mycroft cut in to almost everyone’s astonishment. “Has been a faithful and trusted companion of Sherlock’s for five years now.”

Lestrade grasped his partner’s hand gratefully across the couch with a wide grin and felt his heart squeeze as a pink flush spread across Mycroft’s features before he returned to texting his PA back in London. 

The conversation veered away to more mundane topics after that. Victor and Lestrade found they shared a love of rugby and spent most of the dinner discussing their respective teams, Mycroft rested his hand lightly on his lover’s lower back while continuing to review the documents being sent to him on his phone, Sherlock stared listlessly out whatever window was closest hardly touching his food, and Mummy seemed to have trouble regaining her earlier feelings of triumph as she found it harder and harder to engage her youngest son in discussions about possible tours of Europe that she would like him to accompany her on for a few months in the fall. 

The rest of the weekend seemed to pass by at a glacial pace for Sherlock. He spent most of it holed up in his father’s library creating a list of possible experiments to begin back at home and brushing off his mother’s attempts at matchmaking as much as possible. Victor joined him and they discussed theory as well as the real world application of the proposed experiments. If his mother had been paying attention, she would have noticed the faint crayon marks on his shirt sleeves and traces of perfume on his travel bags. Obviously, he is in a serious relationship with a woman with a small child from a previous marriage. 

He was suffering through as well as he could with his promise to his mother always at the forefront of his mind when he finally came to his senses Sunday afternoon as they were just about to sit down to tea.

“It’s always nice,” Mrs. Holmes began trying to subtly reiterate her point, “When one is surrounded by family. It’s unsettling to try to entertain unwanted guests.”

“You know, Mummy.” Sherlock said with a faint grin tugging at his lips. “I believe you’re right.” 

With that, he rose from his chair and made his way back up the stairs to pack his bags.

“I’m sorry.” Mrs. Holmes said, looking around the room at everyone else. “I’m not sure what just happened.”

“It’s you, Mrs. Holmes.” A quiet, confident voice said from the corner of the room. Now Mr. Holmes is an incredibly unobtrusive sort of person. He’s fiercely intelligent, exceedingly observant, and intensely private. He has lived on this estate since he was a child. He grew up, got married to a socialite because it was expected, had an heir because it was needed, had another child because it’s what his wife wanted, and got back to living the life that he loved: Studying geology and making month-long trips to study natural phenomenon around the globe. He loves his children as one is supposed to, assists them when they require it, and leaves them to their own lives like they want him to in the interim. He spent time with them as children and taught them how to take the facts of the earth and develop theories as to what those pieces of evidence mean. His sons have taken that information and translated it into their own fields. He lets his wife do as she pleases because he abhors domestics and frankly doesn’t want to waste energy on such puerile topics. Rarely does he make his presence known and everyone is completely at ease with the status quo. 

He’s spent most of the last three days in his greenhouse and on teleconference calls to Taiwan, Bolivia, and Wales. He’s been on the outer rim of the events with Sherlock’s young man and while he doesn’t approve of his wife’s behavior, he trusts that Sherlock is strong enough and independent enough to overlook her obvious idiocy and make his own life choices. He, of course, is proven correct.  
“Pardon me?” Mrs. Holmes inquires of her husband.

“You’re unwanted.” He says simply. “He’s going back to his family. The family he chose. Sorry, dear, but you fall short.”

He didn’t waste any energy watching his wife sputter and gasp in outrage as she began to stalk out of the room to spend her energy irritating Henry with complaints of dizziness and heart palpitations. Mr. Holmes continues to review his travel arrangements for his three month sojourn to the Arctic without another glance toward the other occupants of the room. He vaguely remembers his humming response to Mycroft’s approval of his actions but tunes everything else out. He has much more important things to worry about.

0000000000000000000000

Sherlock is on the front steps of 221 Baker Street just before seven that evening. He unlocks the door, drops his luggage in the entry way and then vaults up the stairs to find John curled up on the sofa with a book in his lap sleeping soundly. He shrugged his coat off before leaning over his partner and placing a firm kiss on his gloriously familiar lips. John jumped from the contact but quickly returned the sentiment. Sherlock shifted to perch next to his hip on the sofa as he leaned over John and continued to run delicate kisses along his jawline.

“It’s not Tuesday.” John said trying to abstain from giggling at Sherlock’s tickling caresses.

“Not quite, no.” Sherlock answered before claiming his lips again and sliding his tongue lusciously against John’s. His doctor ran his hands over Sherlock’s waist pulling at the belt loops on his trousers to get him closer. They kissed languidly on the couch slowing growing more desperate with lust and need. 

“Bed.” John gasped, feeling his arousal pulse against the coarse fibers of his jeans. At Sherlock’s soft growl they both stumbled to the bedroom pulling each other’s clothes off, grasping at skin, and nipping at each other’s throats. John tripped on the hem of his jeans and fell into Sherlock who yelped and collapsed onto the sheets of their bed. They giggled lightly as they fought to get the rest of their clothes off. 

John slithered down his partner’s lanky frame before sucking on the skin that covered those graceful hips. Sherlock moaned as John moved to rest his lips against the silky head of the detective’s cock. Running his tongue along the delicate veins, John relished the groans and gasps that were coming from his partner. 

“John, wait.” Sherlock breathed heavily, tugging at his arm to get him to lie next to him on the pillows. He wrapped his arms tightly around John’s body needing that contact like he needed air.

“What is it?” John asked feeling uncertainty tingle along his skin. 

“I missed you.” Sherlock murmured into his neck. “I didn’t…I didn’t like being away from you.”

“I missed you too.” John said. “Did something happen after I left?”

John felt his entire body tense as worst case scenarios flew through his mind knowing that Sherlock would notice them as well. 

“I need you to know…” Sherlock said, practically pleading. “Just that…what you mean to me…”

John felt his heart swell and decided to save his genius from himself. He cupped Sherlock’s face with both hands, caressing his cheekbones with his thumbs before catching Sherlock’s gaze.

“I love you.” John said simply, but firmly. “Always.”

Sherlock visibly deflated from his release of tension. He smiled fondly at his army doctor, “I love you, John. Thank you.”

John tugged him close and kissed his lips delicately. 

“I’m glad that’s settled.” John said lightly. “Is there anything else?”

“My mother can say terrible things.” Sherlock whispered. “But I need you to know, that nothing she says will ever change how I feel about you.”

“Thank you.” John echoed him. 

They lay there silently just breathing in each other’s scent. It was a few minutes before John broke the quiet contemplation occurring.

“Sherlock?” John whispered.

“Yes?” Sherlock responded.

“This is all well and good and I’m chuffed, I really am.” John said with a smirk. “But can we get back to you fucking me now?”

Sherlock baritone laugh cut through any residual tension and they resumed their well-deserved ‘welcome home’ romp.


End file.
